His entire body relaxed, and he kissed her hard in retaliation. “Stinker. So is it at least good?”

“It is. Well done.” She patted his cheek and settled back in her chair, waving a hand toward the stove. “Now go. Cook for me, minion.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He headed back to stir the sauce, dumped the pasta into boiling water, and double-checked his meatballs in the oven. After giving them the okay, he passed those to the saucepan and slid garlic bread slices into the oven in their place.

“The man can cook,” she murmured, watching him over the rim of her glass. “Hidden talents.”

“It’s just pasta, and other than grilling some meat—which I have to add, I’m excellent at—it’s all I can do. But it keeps me from fast food, at least part of the time. Meatballs go with a lot of stuff.”

“What’s the secret to grilling?”

He shook his head at that. “I can’t divulge the secret without some give and take.”

“Okay then.” Reagan settled back, looking as relaxed as he’d seen her since the day they met. She let one wavy lock of hair twirl around her finger. “I’ll bite. What do I have to do to get the famous grilling secret?”

“You’ve gotta pass on a recipe of your own. Simple trade.”

“Easy enough. I’ll give it to you right now.” She leaned forward, which meant her breasts were shelved on the high kitchen island. It was as if the granite countertop was made to hold those gorgeous orbs of alabaster skin. “You open up a bag of that salad mix, pour it into a bowl, then dump some Newman’s dressing over the top. Ta-dah. Salad.”

He scowled. “That’s it?”

“Sometimes, if I’m feeling really fancy, I buy that presliced deli meat and toss it on top. Now you’ve got a chef’s salad.” She sat back, looking smug as she took another sip. “But that’s really not for beginners. We’ll work our way up.”

“This isn’t good,” he said, stirring the pasta, testing a piece and deciding it needed one more minute. “Neither of us can cook more than two meals between the two of us. We’re doomed.”

“Hey, now. You haven’t had my famous macaroni and cheese.” She raised her brows at his skeptical look. “The blue-box recipe is extremely famous, thank you very much, Judgey Pants.”

“I’m sorry. I should have worn my more humble pants this evening. Simple wardrobe mistake.” He started to plate their dinner, stacking pans and pots by the sink to wash later. Or, should things go as anticipated, for Graham to wash later.

Sorry, buddy. You’d do the same thing.

As they sat down, he relished listening to her make pleasurable little sounds as she tasted a bit of each. “This isn’t the garlic bread you buy in the frozen foods section, is it?”

He did his best to appear offended. “How dare you, madam.”

She raised a brow, and he cracked like fine china. “Okay, fine. Normally I cheat and go that direction. But for tonight, I broke out the big guns and used a real French bread and did it myself. Much better.”

“Mmm. Much.” She took another bite of that piece, then set it aside. “Don’t let me have another, or I’ll never fit into my suits again.”

“I hardly think that’s an issue. But hey, if you’re looking for a postdinner calorie-burn . . .” He waggled his brows suggestively, and had the pleasure of watching her groan while laughing. “I’m just glad you said yes to dinner.”

“I’m glad Graham gave us the run of his house. You’re sure he’s okay leaving like this?”

Greg nodded. “He’s fine. He’s . . . do you want to get that?” he added, when her cell phone started to ring.

She glanced at her purse, sitting on the chair next to her. “No, ignore it.”

The ringing stopped, only to start again a few seconds later. “Go ahead. Might as well get whatever it is out of the way.”

She apologized, started to get up, then stopped and sat back down. “It’s Kara. Normally I’d ignore but—”

“Totally okay.”

He watched her worried expression as she answered.

“No, I’m not at my place, I’m already out. Why, what’s . . . oh. Uh . . .” She looked down at her plate, then over at Greg. “Well . . . okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll figure it out. How long will you need me?” She mouthed an I’m sorry to him. Kara needs me.

He motioned for her to hand him the phone. She hesitated, then said, “Kara, I’m actually with Greg and . . . no, it’s okay. Please don’t worry. But he wants to talk to you. Yeah. Okay, here.” She handed him the phone. “She’s got to run out and needs someone to watch Zach. It’s a yoga-mergency.”

Yoga-mergency? “Kara, hey. It’s Greg Higgs.”

“I’m sorry about this.” Misery and embarrassment were both plain in Kara’s voice. “I completely forgot you two were spending tonight together. If I’d remembered, I wouldn’t have barged in like this.”

“You need someone to watch Zach?”

“One of my clients—the one you don’t say no to because she pays way too well—called for a last-minute private before she leaves the country. Apparently she can’t go on vacation without one more round of sun salutations. My normal babysitter can’t make it.”

In the background, he could hear Zach’s small voice yell, “I don’t need a babysitter!”

Kara sighed. “I can’t get ahold of Marianne, and her parents are on vacation themselves. I’m so sorry, but—”

“Stay there. I’m sending reinforcements. And trust me, Zach will definitely not complain. Just trust me.”

“I’m not comfortable leaving him with a stranger,” Kara warned.

“You won’t be. Just hold tight.” He hung up, handed Reagan’s phone back to her, then whipped his own out to start texting.

After a minute, Reagan said, “Okay, curiosity is winning. Who are you sending over?”

“Graham.” Satisfied, he stuffed the phone in his pocket. “She knows him, Zach likes him, and he planned to stay out of the house for a few hours anyway. He’d been debating a movie, but this is going to be more fun. He’s good with it.”

“I know, but—”

“Hey.” He put one hand over hers, let his thumb caress the side. She opened under him, laced her fingers with his. “Has Kara ever been one to shrink in the face of motherly duties?”

“Of course not.”

“So she’s going to let us know if it’s not okay.” He took a sip of water, not wanting to let go of her hand just yet to eat. “Plus, I added that kid likely has a good video game collection, which means she’ll have a hard time getting rid of Graham.”

“Men.” Reagan smiled a little before pulling her hand away to twirl some pasta on her fork. “They’re just boys who eat more and kept getting bigger.”

“Exactly.” He tugged the back of her neck so she leaned in for a sweet kiss. “But you ladies tolerate us. Bless you.”

*   *   *

KARA wrung her hands, caught herself doing it, and forced them behind her back. Then in her pockets. Then clutching the straps of her yoga bag, she walked back to her son’s room.

He was exactly where she’d left him ten minutes earlier, sprawled on the bed, arms extended straight up, holding a graphic novel above. If he fell asleep for even a second, that book would fall and smack him straight in the nose.

She knew because she read the exact same way, and had woken up more than once when she’d dropped her book—or worse, her e-reader—on her face.

“Remember, Graham’s in charge.”

“Uh-huh,” Zach said without looking away from his book.

“I won’t be gone long.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you know your list of restrictions.”

“Yeah.”

“The main EpiPen is—”

“With the rest of the meds, like it’s always been.” He put his book over his stomach and gave her an irritated glance upside down. “Mom, I’m ten. I think I’ve got this.”

Her little boy, all grown up. Or at least, he thought so. “I know. I’m just being a mom. You’ll thank me one day.”

His snort as he picked up the book informed her he considered that outcome unlikely at best.

The knock on the door had her turning, just before she leaned back to say, “I love you, Zach.”